Remington Steele opening billboard
Laura: Try this for a deep, dark secret. The great detective Remington Steele? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. Follow. I always loved excitement. So, I studied and apprenticed, and put my name on an office. But absolutely nobody knocked down my door. A female private investigator seemed so…feminine. So, I invented a superior. A decidedly masculine superior. Suddenly there were cases around the block. It was working like a charm. Until the day he walked in with his blue eyes and mysterious past. And before I knew it he assumed Remington Steele’s identity. Now I do the work, and he takes the bows. It’s a dangerous way to live, but as long as people buy it, I can get the job done. We never mix business with pleasure. Well, almost never. I don’t even know his real name.
End of opening billboard
That night, Remington Steele signs a tab for a $155.60 Gourmet Dinner. The following day, the postman delivers the detective agency’s mail.
Bernice brings the mail to Laura Holt who is in her office in front of her computer.
Bernice Foxe returns to the reception area as Murphy Michaels arrives whistling with their breakfast. Murphy hands Bernice her meal. They both open the containers.
Murphy: Avocado on seven grain with alfalfa sprouts. Mmm. Must be yours.
Bernice: Corned beef and pastrami on a Kaiser with horseradish and sauerkraut. Mmm! Must be yours.
They exchange meals. Laura Holt screams. Bernice Foxe and Murphy Michaels rush to her office. Laura grunts as he goes through the mail.
Murphy: You all right?!
Bernice: What is it?
Laura: Him! Look at those bills!
Laura Holt throws in the air the bills.
Laura: One round-trip chartered jet to Las Vegas, two thousand dollars. One evening gown by Louis of Beverly Hills, six thousand dollars. You know, he’s bought her enough flowers to open a botanical garden!
Laura Holt walks over to the bulletin board such that she comes face-to-face with the picture of a woman.
Laura: Nadine—the peroxide piranha.
Bernice: But I thought that was his assignment. Keep her out of the way until you settled the Randall case.
Murphy: I hate to admit it, but he seems to be doing an excellent job. I mean, we haven’t seen Nadine in weeks.
Laura: We haven’t seen Mr. Steele either, and the case has been closed for three days!
Bernice: Guess he got a little carried away.
Laura: Well, we may never see him again unless his credit or his stamina runs out.
Bernice: Well, we know he was in San Francisco two days ago.
Laura: How do we know?
Bernice: We just got a bill from Ernie’s.
Laura: Ooh! Oh!
Murphy: Hold it, Laura. Calm down, huh?
Laura: We’ve got to do something to get his attention.
Laura Holt throws a dart at Nadine’s picture.
That night, Remington Steele is at a restaurant with Nadine. Nadine is about to eat caviar.
Mr. Steele: Uh-uh, Nadine. Never bite. Always nibble.
Nadine nibbles the appetizer.
Mr. Steele: More champagne?
Nadine shakes her head.
Mr. Steele: Anything?
Nadine: Just a cozy place to do some serious nibbling.
Mr. Steele calls the waiter.
Waiter: Yes, Mr. Steele?
Mr. Steele: Check, please.
Waiter: Yes, sir.
The waiter places on the table the bill.
Waiter: Sorry, Mr. Steele, but I’m afraid your account has been closed.
Mr. Steele: Closed?
Waiter: Yes, sir.
Mr. Steele: Oh, very well.
Remington Steele searches her suit pocket for a wallet. He slaps his credit card on the table.
Waiter: Thank you, sir.
The waiter leaves. Remington Steele turns to Nadine.
Mr. Steele: You have made this evening so…extraordinarily special. I’m gonna do something I’ve never done before.
Remington Steele kisses the woman’s hand.
Nadine: Oh, I hope so.
Remington Steele hands Nadine a brass nameplate with his name engraved on it.
Mr. Steele: A forget-me-not.
Nadine: Oh, Remington.
The waiter returns.
Waiter: I’m sorry, Mr. Steele, but I have orders to confiscate your credit card.
Mr. Steele: What?!
Waiter: I don’t know anything about it, sir. All they said was that I had to confiscate the card.
Mr. Steele: Then how am I supposed to settle this?
Waiter: You could try cash, sir.
Mr. Steele: Cash? I never carry cash.
Remington Steele quickly turns to Nadine.
Mr. Steele: It’s so bulky.
Nadine: I have some money.
Nadine turns over the tab.
Mr. Steele: Now, you’ve upset the lady.
Waiter: I’m terribly sorry, sir.
Mr. Steele: If I weren’t so annoyed, I’d be embarrassed.
Remington Steele helps Nadine with her blazer.
Mr. Steele: Allow me to repay you over breakfast in the morning, my dear.
Remington Steele follows Nadine as they exit the restaurant, but comes across the maitre’d. Mr. Steele turns around.
Mr. Steele: Uh, Claude will have to be taken care of too.
Nadine pulls out cash from her purse.
Nadine: This all right?
Mr. Steele: More than adequate?
Remington Steele escorts Nadine as she hands the tip to Claude.
Claude: Thank you, Mr. Steele.
Outside, there is a heavy downpour. The doorman prepares an umbrella for the two, and calls for their car.
Nadine: Should I, uh—
Mr. Steele: Uh, just a few dollars.
Remington Steele clears his throat. The car arrives. Nadine hands the man his tip.
Doorman: Thank you, Mr. Steele.
Mr. Steele: Yeah.
The following morning, the annoyed Remington Steele arrives at the office.
Bernice: Mr. Steele.
Mr. Steele: Ms. Wolfe.
Bernice Foxe whispers.
One of the many clients waiting for him approaches him.
Man: Mr. Steele. It’s a pleasure, sir.
The man shakes Remington Steele’s hand.
Man: I’m Liebowitz. You know, the Morton matter.
Mr. Steele: Ah, yes, yes.
Liebowitz: A very complex situation, but it’s been resolved.
Mr. Steele: Uh, complex but easily resolved.
Remington Steele enters Laura Holt’s office.
Mr. Steele: Ms. Wolfe.
Mr. Steele: What?
Bernice: I’m a Foxe, not a Wolfe. Bernice Foxe.
Bernice Foxe closes the door behind them. Remington Steele goes over to Murphy Michael’s office.
Bernice: Call me Wolfe one more time, I’ll tell Laura you’re hanging around the office.
Mr. Steele: Where is she?
Remington Steele makes his way to his office.
Mr. Steele: I can see that. Where?
Bernice: That’s not for publication.
Mr. Steele: You don’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. She has closed my checking account. I am on the brink of financial not to mention physical oblivion.
Bernice: I’ll give her the message.
Mr. Steele: Very well, Ms. Whatever. How would you like me to personally handle every one of those cases out there?
Remington Steele makes his way to the front door of his office.
Bernice: You wouldn’t.
Mr. Steele: Where is she?
Bernice: At a motel on Pico.
Laura Holt is at a motel on Pico with a man. Jazz is playing on the radio as she removes her sweater. Laura laughs then speaks with an unrefined accent.
Laura: This is a first for me.
The shirtless man lies on the bed.
Shirtless Man: Yeah? Well, you’re going to learn to love it.
Laura Holt sighs.
Laura: Oh. If my husband ever found out about this, he’d kill us both.
Shirtless Man: Well, I won’t tell if, uh, you won’t.
In the next room, Murphy Michaels listens to their conversation through the bugging device. Their client who is also in that room speaks to him in a loud whisper.
Client: What is he saying?
Murphy: Keep talkin’, creep.
The man grabs Murphy’s arm.
Client: Look. We already know he’s behind it. Why can’t we just call the police?
Murphy: He’s gotta ask her to steal the information from your company. The minute he does we’ll grab him.
In the adjoining room, Laura Holt removes her jeans.
Laura: Maybe I’ll take the rest of the day off.
Laura Holt throws the jeans at the man.
Shirtless Man: Uh-uh, baby, because your job is going to make us a lot of money.
The man gets up from the bed, walks over to Laura, and starts kissing her on the neck.
Murphy listens and chuckles. He gives their client a thumbs up.
Laura: What do you mean?
The man sweeps her off her feet then chuckles.
Shirtless Man: Well, you see, it’s uh—it’s like this. You give me some material—
The man kisses Laura Holt on the lips then Remington Steele barges in.
Mr. Steele: You’ve got a lot of explaining to do!
The man quickly runs to the corner, and gets his shirt. Surprised Laura Holt faces Remington Steele.
Laura: What are you doing here?!
Shirtless Man: Are you the husband, fella?
Mr. Steele: You closed my checking account!
Laura: We’ll talk about it later.
Laura Holt tries to push Remington Steele out the door, but he pushes back.
Shirtless Man: Hey!
The man stammers.
Shirtless Man: Wait a minute. I know that guy.
Laura: No, you don’t.
Shirtless Man: Yeah, I do. That’s Remington Steele.
Laura: Remington Steele? No.
Shirtless Man: It’s a setup!
In the next room, the client whispers to Murphy.
Client: What’s happening in there?
Murphy: Don’t ask!
The shirtless man rushes out the door. Murphy Michaels runs out of his room.
Shirtless Man: Whoa!
Laura Holt runs out of her room, and sees Murphy.
Laura: Grab him, Murphy!
The client runs after Murphy.
Client: Shouldn’t we be calling the police?
Laura Holt runs after them. Remington Steele walks out the room. Murphy Michaels catches the man.
Mr. Steele: We’re not finished!
The shirtless man struggles to break free from Murphy. The man knees Murphy, and successfully gets away.
Client: Will somebody please tell me what’s happening?!
Laura: A slight change of plans, Mr. Dillon.
Murphy: Hey! Stop!
Laura: Why won’t you go back to your office, and I will give you a complete update in about an hour.
Remington Steele stands behind Laura Holt.
Mr. Dillon: Well, at least it’s reassuring to know that Mr. Steele is personally involved.
Mr. Dillon leaves.
Laura: Three weeks playing secretary for nothing!
Laura Holt slaps Remington Steele’s arm, and makes her way back to the hotel room.
Mr. Steele: Well, if you’d tell me what cases I’m supposed to be working on I wouldn’t have found myself in this embarrassing situation.
Laura: You’re not working on any cases anymore!
Mr. Steele: Gratitude is not of your strong suits. After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me—cutting off my credit, closing my checking account?
Laura: You spent twenty-two thousand dollars in a single month. A month that doesn’t even have thirty-one days in it.
Laura Holt puts on her jeans.
Mr. Steele: You asked me to keep Nadine occupied.
Laura: Long-stemmed roses, two hundred an ounce perfume, designer gowns.
Mr. Steele: Perhaps I did go a bit overboard, but it’s for the good of the agency.
Laura: Well, for the good of the agency, from now on we discuss all expenditures in advance!
Mr. Steele: Fine, but I’ve written checks to people who don’t even take checks. They have names like Bruno and Guido, and they do some of their best work in cement.
Laura: What kind of shady enterprise are you involved in this time?
Mr. Steele: Danny’s Dessert, some of the finest horseflesh ever to grace a quarter-mile turn.
Laura Holt looks for her shoes.
Laura: Spare me.
Remington Steele helps her look for her shoes under the bed.
Mr. Steele: The horse comes up lame. Bruno and his boys want to unload him. So, I put together a group of investors to turn him out to stud.
Remington Steele finds Laura Holt’s shoes, and hands it to her.
Laura: Thank you. I’ll try to convince Mr. Dillon that you barging in her was another brilliant Remington Steele tactic.
Mr. Steele: Uh-huh, uh-huh.
Remington Steele helps Laura Holt put on her sweater.
Laura: Thank you.
Laura Holt makes her way out the door.
Mr. Steele: Uh, what about Danny’s Dessert?
Laura: Buy him some Ben-Gay.
Remington Steele is back in his office. He taps his fingers and debates whether he should answer the buzzing phone. He finally decides, and picks up the phone.
Mr. Steele: Bruno! It’s just as I suspected. Bookkeeping boggle.
A man in a tracksuit approaches Remington Steele who is still on the phone. The man extends his hand for a handshake.
Tracksuit Man: Good to see you, Mr. Steele. I’m uh…
Mr. Steele: Interrupting.
Bernice: I told him you weren’t…
Remington Steele signals to Bernice Foxe to leave.
Mr. Steele: Bruno, do I detect a note of disbelief in your voice?
Bernice Foxe leaves the office, and closes the door behind her.
Mr. Steele: Stiff? In what context are you using that word, Bruno?
Remington Steele feigns a chuckle.
Mr. Steele: Ah, that context. Noon tomorrow? I’m not sure that my bank can transfer the funds by…
Bruno hangs up. Remington Steele hangs up. The man in the tracksuit extends his hand again.
Tracksuit Man: Jim Meecham, Meecham Exploration and Development. Let’s huddle.
Remington Steele shakes the man’s hand without even looking at him.
Mr. Steele: See Ms. Holt. She huddles.
Jim: I never scrimmage with second-stringers. See, my playbook looks like this.
Jim Meecham takes a seat.
Jim: I’m in oil and natural gas based out of Oklahoma City. My pencil pusher says diversify, so I bought into Dillon Electronics. Only it seems like ever since I’ve been on that team, it’s been third-and-long. Somebody’s been red-doggin’ us.
Mr. Steele: We don’t handle animal cases.
Jim: You’re already handlin’ this one. Dillon Jr. hired you folks to find out who’s stealin’ our research. They were just about to sack the guy in a motel, only some airhead busted up the play.
Mr. Steele: Competent help is hard to find in any profession.
Jim: That’s why I want you quarterbacking this operation, Mr. Steele. It’s time to stop pussyfootin’ around motels and get to the bottom of this thing.
Remington Steele picks up the phone, and begins to dial.
Mr. Steele: I, uh, never involve myself directly in a case. I function best in an advisory capacity.
Remington Steele turns around to talk on the phone.
Jim: I subscribe to the George Steinbrenner philosophy of life. If you want a piece of talent, you buy it. Twenty-five thousand cashier’s check made payable to you.
Remington Steele quickly swivels around his chair to face Jim Meecham. Jim drops the check on his table. Mr. Steele talks on the phone.
Mr. Steele: Uh, Ms. Wolfe, hold my calls. I’ll be in conference. Thank you.
Laura Holt, now in her office attire arrives at the office. Bernice Foxe hands her the mail.
Laura Holt hears two men laughing inside Remington Steele’s office. Laura knocks on the door, and enters the office.
Laura: Excuse me, Mr. Steele.
Mr. Steele: Ah, come in, Ms. Holt. Come in. Uh, Meech was just telling me about the time he wildcatted up Alaska way.
Laura Holt closes the door behind her, and walks over to the two men. Remington Steele gets up his chair.
Mr. Steele: Uh, Jim Meecham.
Remington Steele clears his throat.
Mr. Steele: Laura Holt.
Jim Meecham gets up the couch.
Jim: The tanglefoot from the motel.
Mr. Steele: Now, Meech, let’s not blitz her buns. Ms. Holt is one of my finest operatives.
Laura: Oh, you’re too kind, Mr. Steele.
The two men return to their seats, and Laura Holt sits on the couch.
Laura: We’re watching the young man’s apartment in case he shows up.
Jim: Why, that’s just fine for the taxi squad, but the coach here just convinced me that the only way to stop all these thefts is to install a complete security system.
Mr. Steele: We’ll start first thing in the morning.
Laura: May I respectfully remind you, Mr. Steele that your enormous responsibilities preclude any personal involvement…
Jim: Now, little lady, when I buy seats on the fifty-yard line I expect to se the first team play. Now, you let the coach do what he does best, and you well, you just do whatever it is you do around here.
Jim Meecham grabs the bottle of whiskey.
Jim: I’ll just doggie-bag this. See you later, Steele.
Jim Meecham walks out the door.
Laura: Are you crazy?!
Mr. Steele: He insisted I handle the case.
Laura: Insisted, my foot. You couldn’t even install a light bulb.
Mr. Steele: Piece of cake.
Laura: You know, you’re beginning to believe your own publicity. You are not Remington Steele. I invented Remington Steele. He’s a figment of my imagination.
Bernice Foxe stands outside the office listening to Laura and Remington Steele argue.
Mr. Steele: I didn’t ask you to put my face in your figment.
Laura: I told you that was just…
Mr. Steele: Do you have any idea how draining it is to be Remington Steele?
Bernice Foxe walks over to the front door of Remington Steele’s office to listen closer.
Laura: It must be agony living in an apartment I’ve only seen in the movies!
Mr. Steele: We make such a winning combination.
Laura: We have a deal.
Mr. Steele: Let’s enjoy our success.
Laura: I do the work. You take the bows.
Mr. Steele: Allow our passions to erupt into something outrageously fulfilling.
Laura: You mean hop in the sack?
Mr. Steele: A little crude, but to the point.
Laura: Love to.
Mr. Steele: Well, then?
Laura: But I can’t.
Mr. Steele: Why not?
Laura: It’s tough enough pulling off this little charade without that kind of complication. As long as we’re in business, let’s keep it businesslike. Uh, tell old Meech that the press of other commitments forces you to turn Dillon Electronics over to Murphy and me.
Mr. Steele: Love to, but I can’t.
Laura: Why not?
Mr. Steele: I gave my word, and everyone knows that Remington Steele’s word is his bond.
Laura Holt glares at Remington Steele. Bernice Foxe hurries away from the door right before Mr. Steele walks out.
Mr. Steele: Carry on, Ms. Wolfe.
Remington Steele in his chauffeured car makes his way to the shady part of town. He enters the Lost & Found Mission where a man speaks in front of some grubby old men.
Speaker: That’s the worst part of it, feelin’ sorry for yourselves. Nobody loves me. Nobody cares about me except my bottle of my needle. Oh yeah, I know what I’m talkin’ about because I know it’s gonna be hard to believe, but I used to be just like you. Shootin’ up all day and pukin’ up all night. Yeah, then I got the message. There is and was somebody who cared about me, the big “C”. Jesus Christ himself. I mean, you are lookin’ at a living, breathing testimony to the powers of the big fella. I mean to tell ya, if he can, if he can keep me straight for three years he sure as hell can do the same thing for you bunch of bums.
The speaker spots Remington Steele.
Speaker: Why don’t you all, uh, get yourself somethin’ to eat?
The speaker approaches Remington Steele.
Speaker: Well, if it ain’t my old—
Remington Steele shushes him.
Mr. Steele: Shh, shh, shh.
Remington Steele pulls out a business card, and hands it to the speaker.
Speaker: Remington Steele Detective Agency? How’d you wind up a detective?
Mr. Steele: I had the face for it.
Speaker: Sure not lie the old days, huh?
Mr. Steele: Eh.
Speaker: Uh, Remington. Sorry. What a moniker.
Mr. Steele: I am in desperate need of your talents, Wallace.
Wallace: Uh, I’m not in that line of endeavor anymore. The big fella frowns on it.
Mr. Steele: Nothing remotely tainted, I assure you. Since you’ve, uh, circumvented so many burglar alarms I thought you’d, uh, be just the chap to install one. Sort of, poetic justice?
Wallace: I don’t know. If I’m not around here, this place turns into a shootin’ gallery.
Mr. Steele: For a few day’s work for, say um, ten thousand dollars?
Wallace: Ten thousand dollars?
Wallace pulls Remington Steele aside.
Wallace: What I could do for these bums with ten grand.
Remington Steele writes on his business card.
Mr. Steele: My tailor. Have him whip you up something conservative yet dernier cri. Charge it to my account.
Wallace: New name or not, you’re the same old highflier.
Later that night, Laura Holt sits in her office staring at the picture of Remington Steele.
Bernice: I’m back.
Bernice Foxe walks to Laura Holt’s office carrying with her a pile of folders.
Bernice: Homework. Surveillance on Marlene York, insurance description of the Ragotzy jewelry, and the wrap-up on the Morton case.
Laura Holt takes one of the folders.
Bernice: Don’t you get enough of the real thing?
Bernice hands Laura her dinner.
Laura: What? Oh, I happened to come across it on my desk.
Bernice: Hey, this is me. Remember? The belle of he ball. The life of the party. I’ve seen that look before. I’ve even had it a few times myself.
Laura Holt looks at Remington Steele’s picture once again.
Laura: Who is he? What was he before he was Remington Steele?
Bernice: Who cares? He’s here. You’re here. Go for it.
Laura: Then what?
Bernice: Depends on what you’re looking for. Me, I’m all partied out. What I want is a slightly dull, filthy-rich husband, but if I were in the market for a heart-stopping, teeth-rattling, eye-rolling fling…
Bernice Foxe makes a gun of her hand, and imitates a gunshot.
Laura: You know. It’s not just the free ride that keeps this clown around. It’s the challenge. I’m probably the only woman he’s ever met who didn’t tumble right into bed with him.
Bernice: Not a bad way to break the ice.
Laura: Yeah. Hmm, but I can barely keep him in line now. Can you imagine what he’d be link if we turn that corner?
Bernice: Might be fun finding out.
Laura: I’ve worked too hard to risk everything just to get my teeth rattled.
Bernice: So, where does that leave you?
Laura: Mm. Oh. Itchy.
The next day, men unload a van with filing boxes.
Man on Radio: Local dispatcher to Truck Number 10. On your clearance ticket to Santa Barbara be sure to fill in total mileage and time for entire round-trip. Over.
Workers start work on the security system at the Meecham house. A machine starts beeping, whirrs then whines to a halt, and then a horn blows. Inside the house, Murphy Michaels watch as men continue their work inside the house.
Worker: Joe, throw me a tape measure, will ya?
Murphy Michaels walks over to a well-dressed Wallace.
Murphy: Your men are very efficient.
Wallace: The best in the business.
Murphy: Right. Tell me, Wallace. Where did you first meet Mr. Steele?
Wallace: Diplomatic corps.
Wallace clears his throat.
Wallace: Excuse me? In Paris it was. Spring of seventy-seven or was it seventy-eight? No, no, seventy-nine. That was a good year.
Murphy: Are you sure it wasn’t Dannemora or Leavenworth?
Wallace: They got rats in the Seine big as Volkswagens.
A couple feet away, a worker calls out to another worker.
Worker: Hey, Al. Give me a hand over here.
Laura Holt approaches Remington Steele who is looking at a floor plan.
Laura: Are you sure they know what they’re doing?
Mr. Steele: Between them, they’ve over seventy-years of experience.
Laura Holt eyes suddenly look distant. She turns to Remington Steele.
Laura: Who are you? Where did you come from?
Remington Steele scoffs.
Mr. Steele: Humphrey Bogart to Ingrid Bergman. Casablanca. Warner Brothers. 1942.
Laura: This is no time to be quoting old movies.
Mr. Steele: Then stop asking old questions.
The mother of Mr. Dillon arrives carrying a pot of tea.
Mother: Tea time.
Mother turns to Laura Holt.
Mother: You wanna swill some of this, honey?
Laura: Thank you, Mrs. Dillon.
Hannah: Oh, what a mess. Packy’s probably doing a three-sixty.
Hannah: My late husband—Patrick Joseph. We started Dillon Electronics forty-years ago, making gyroscopes for the navy in our basement.
Hanna pours tea to a cup. Laura takes a sip, and squirms. Hanna Dillon chuckles.
Hanna: Tastes like raw crude, don’t it? Packy had it special-blended. Couldn’t stand it myself while he was alive, but now, it…well, it kinda keeps me close to him.
Laura: Well, um, your son seems to be carrying on in the family tradition.
Laura Holt and Hanna Dillon watch Rodger Dillon as he flirts with a woman.
Hannah: Rodger? He’s carrying on, all right.
Jim Meecham follows Remington Steele down the stairs.
Jim: Why the hell are we cartin’ all this stuff up here?
Mr. Steele: Stop and smell the flowers. Santa Barbara’s lovely this time of year.
Jim: It seems bush keeping research in a house.
Mr. Steele: Dillon’s orders.
Jim: Well, he may run the company, but the old lady still runs him. She thinks it’s too risky at the plant.
Mr. Steele: Now, Meech, I am personally supervising this entire operation. What could possibly go wrong?
Later that night, men in masks break inside the house. One climbs the roof, another saws a circle off a window, and another enters through a sawed out floor. The men successfully enters the room where the precious research are held, but as soon as they take the files alarm bells start blaring. Moreover, a gate covers all exit points. Remington Steele followed by the others makes their way to the room, and finds that the gates have dropped trapping the masked men inside.
Mr. Steele: The key!
Remington Steele keys in and the gates open.
People laugh, and rejoice.
Woman: Remington, you…
Mr. Steele: Gentlemen.
Remington Steele signals for the masked men to reveal themselves. As it turns out, the masked men are Wallace and his workers. Remington Steele walks over to Wallace, and pats him on the arm. He then addresses the other people in the room.
Mr. Steele: If, uh, the men who installed the system cannot breach it, then I’d have to say it’s foolproof.
Laura Holt whispers to Murphy Michaels.
Laura: You’ve gotta admit. He pulled it off.
In the wee hours of the night, there is a knock on Remington Steele’s room. Remington Steele opens the door to find Rodger Dillon at the other side.
Mr. Dillon: Guess what?
There’s a horrified look in Remington Steele’s eyes. He follows Rodger Dillon downstairs to the supposedly secured room, and finds that the front gate is open, and the precious research were already stolen. Remington Steele clicks his tongue.
Mr. Steele: Oh, my.
The rest of the people who stayed in the house for the night enter the room.
Jim: Well, don’t everybody stand around like it’s a time-out. Call the police.
Mr. Dillon: No! No. No. If this gets out, we’ll lose our government contracts.
Jim Meecham turns to Remington Steele.
Jim: You install fifty-thousand dollars worth of equipment, and somebody just turns off the main switch, and walks out the front door.
Mr. Dillon: You mean this was an inside job?
Jim: You’re all pro material, Dillon.
Murphy Michaels arrives.
Murphy: Wallace is gone.
Mr. Steele: Where?
Laura: I assure you, Mr. Meecham. We will get back…
Jim: I’m gonna sue your agency till it comes up as dry as my last oil well.
Mr. Steele: It seems to me, um…
Remington Steele chuckles.
Mr. Steele: We got off on the wrong foot this morning.
Later that night, Remington Steele is in the chauffeured limo watching a black and white movie.
Nora: You’re driving me crazy!
Nicky: The murderer is right in this room, sitting at this table.
Another man pulls out a gun from under the table.
Man #2 on TV: Why, you dirty little—
The man beside him knocks him down, and a shot is fired into the air. Women scream.
Nicky: There’s your murderer.
Nora: Nicky, he might have killed you!
Nicky: So, what’s the matter? You sorry he didn’t?
Remington Steele picks up the car phone, and calls Laura Holt who is at her house in front of the computer. Laura is doing a background check on Wallace Immel when the phone rings.
Mr. Steele: Steele here.
Laura: What do you want?
Mr. Steele: Are you alone?
Laura: No. Wallace and I are sitting here making paper airplanes out of the research he stole.
Mr. Steele: That’s what I love about you, Laura. No matter how bleak the situation, you never lose your sense of humor.
Laura: Does one of us have a reason that I’m talking to you?
Mr. Steele: I think I’m onto something that could change the entire complexion of the case.
Laura: You’re leaving own.
Mr. Steele: My car will be at your apartment in forty-five minutes. That give you enough time?
Laura: To do what?
Mr. Steele: Make yourself presentable. We’re having dinner.
Laura: Oh, no we’re not having di…
Remington Steele hangs up the phone. Laura Holt slams the phone. She turns off the computer, stands up, and walks up to the mirror. She stares at her own reflection, clicks her tongue, and smirks. Later, Laura Holt elegantly dressed for the evening arrives at the restaurant.
Laura: Mr. Steele’s table, please.
Claude: Oh, yes. This way, please.
The maitre’d escorts Laura Holt to Remington Steele’s table. Mr. Steele gets up his chair with a grin on his face. He then takes Laura’s coat.
Laura: Thank you.
Laura Holt who has not smiled ever since she arrived at the restaurant takes her seat. Remington Steele sits beside her.
Laura: All right, I’m here. What startling news do you have for me?
Mr. Steele: I’m paying for dinner.
Laura: You said you had something to tell me about the Dilon case.
Mr. Steele: I have.
Mr. Steele: Wallace didn’t do it.
Laura: How do you know?
Mr. Steele: He’s of the old school, where there’s honor amongst thieves. He’d never rip off a fellow miscreant.
Laura: Then where is he?
Mr. Steele: He’ll turn up.
Laura: That’s it?
Mr. Steele: Your foolproof security system lasts exactly three hours and fifteen minutes. The agency is looking at a ten million dollar lawsuit. I haven’t got a clue tow here that missing file is! And you drag me halfway across town to tell me he’ll turn up?!
Furious Laura Holt stands up.
Mr. Steele: Sit down. There’s something I want you to know, Laura. You’re good. This Dillon thing is merely a temporary setback. I don’t want you, for one moment, to lose heart or confidence, because you are a skilled, resourceful, and often brilliant investigator. I’ve had an opportunity to observe your talents first-hand, and I am terribly impressed. You’re practical, yet intuitive. You can see the large canvas without missing the small detail.
Laura Holt gulps a glass of wine. Remington Steele sighs.
Mr. Steele: Have I said something wrong?
Laura: I hate it when you’re nice to me.
Remington Steele smiles.
Laura: What do I call you when we’re alone?
Mr. Steele: Well, I’m quite used to the name that you came up with.
Laura: It’s from a typewriter and a football team.
Mr. Steele: Then pick one. I’ve probably used it.
Laura Holt chuckles.
Laura: You know, Murphy thinks you’re an international swindler, or at the very least, an ax murderer.
Laura Holt laughs.
Mr. Steele: Mm.
The maitre’d arrives.
Claude: Excusez-moi, Miss Holt. Telephone for you in the foyer, please.
Laura: Thank you.
Laura Holt walks over to the foyer.
Claude: Would you permit me an observation, Mr. Steele?
Mr. Steele: Certainly, Claude.
Claude: This young lady is by far the finest of a staggering array.
Mr. Steele: You have exquisite taste, Claude.
Claude: Uh, does monsieur intend to bestow a nameplate on her too?
Mr. Steele: Possibly.
Claude: They’re solid brass, you know, and I’m afraid your largesse is beginning to run into big bucks.
Laura Holt with a worried look on her face makes her way back to the table.
Mr. Steele: Well, if I do, it could very well be the last one I dispense.
Laura Holt arrives at the table.
Laura: Wallace turned up.
Later, Laura Holt and Remington Steele are at the morgue. The medical examiner pulls out the corpse of Wallace Immel.
Laura: Where did they find him?
Examiner: Where they find most of them, Main Street.
The examiner pulls off the sheet that covers the face of the dead body of Wallace Immel.
Examiner: Needle still in his arm, five grand in his sock. He must have been celebrating his good fortune.
Mr. Steele: He wasn’t an addict.
Remington Steele examines the dead body of his friend.
Examiner: Take a look at those arms. You could run the Southern Pacific on those tracks.
Mr. Steele: They’re old, at least three years.
Laura: When is the autopsy?
Examiner: Ever heard of proposition thirteen? We don’t have the budget to cut up every junkie that pigs out on smack.
The examiner returns the body back inside the freezer.
Examiner: You want an autopsy? You get this stiff to your own pathologist.
Remington Steele takes medical examiner by his lab coat, and pushes him to the wall.
Mr. Steele: That stiff…once made twenty-seven straight passes in a crap game. He had a daughter he put through college. He liked to fish off King’s Point, and he read “The Wizard of Id”. That stiff…was my friend.
Laura Holt taken aback by Remington Steele’s outburst silently watches him walk out the door. Later, she and Mr. Steele who has his eyes closed are in the limo. Laura turns to him.
Laura Holt smiles and waits to see if the man lightens up. Remington Steele opens his eyes, but is still is not in a good mood.
Laura: Harry. Tonight, you look like a Harry.
Remington Steele scoffs.
Mr. Steele: He didn’t wanna do this job. I soaped him into it.
Laura: It wasn’t your fault.
Mr. Steele: Someone planted the money on him to make it appear he sold the papers then killed him. I’m gonna find that someone.
Laura Holt places her hand on Remington Steele’s shoulder. He looks at her then puts his hand over hers.
Laura: We’ll do it together.
Laura Holt and Remington Steele’s car arrive at the Lost & Found Mission.
Bum: I’ll get the front, William. You get the back.
The bums start wiping the limo.
Mr. Steele: What are we doing here?
Laura: The minute anything happens down here, everybody knows it. Let’s see what they know about Wallace’s death.
Mr. Steele: Ah, see? I told you.
Mr. Steele: You’re good.
Laura Holt points to the bums.
Laura: Might as well start with them.
Mr. Steele: Mm.
Remington Steele walks over to the burning garbage can where the drunkards have gathered around.
Mr. Steele: How’s it goin’?
Laura Holt enters the Lost & Found Mission. She wakes up a sleeping homeless person.
Laura: Excuse me, um…
The man moans.
Laura: Excuse me.
The man returns to his sleep. Outside, Remington Steele tries to make conversation with the alcoholics.
Mr. Steele: Pity about Wallace. Wallace, the fella who ran the mission. Dead, you know.
One of the drunkards offers Remington Steele a bottle of alcohol.
Meanwhile Laura Holt makes her way to the office inside the mission.
Remington Steele gulps some of the strong drink. He then spots a Porsche parked at the alley.
Laura hears a clatter inside the office.
Remington Steele checks out the parked Porsche, and takes note of the license number.
Laura walks up to the room where she heard a noise, and knocks on the door. A man comes up from behind her, and strangles her with a rope. Laura gasps. She groans, and struggles to break free, while outside Remington Steele fuss with his pen. Shortly, he notices that the back door is ajar. He enters the mission, and sees shadows of two people inside a room. He runs to the room, and finds the man choking Laura Holt. He pulls the man away. The two men struggle, but the man lays a punch on him, and manages to escape. Laura coughs as she tries to catch some air. Remington Steele goes over to Laura.
Mr. Steele: Laura, are you all right? Are you okay?
The man runs to his Porsche, and starts his engine.
Remington Steele runs outside.
Mr. Steele: Fred! Block the alley!
Fred starts the limo, and honks at the bums that have gathered around to clean it.
Mr. Steele: Block the alley!
Fred could not move forward due to the bums who continue to block the car as they wipe it. Remington Steele runs for the alley instead, but the Porsche comes screeching out of the alley. Laura makes her way to the limo. She and Mr. Steele watch as the man speed far away from their view. Laura coughs.
Laura: Did you get the license number?
Remington Steele points to his head.
Mr. Steele: Right here.
Laura: How did you know I was in trouble?
Mr. Steele: Actually, I was looking for a pencil.
The next day, Remington Steele is at hotel lobby reading GQ when he spots Laura Holt who signals to him. She points at Jim Meecham who is making his way inside the hotel.
Laura: Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Meecham.
Jim: This better be good, Miss Holt.
While Jim Meecham and Laura Holt chat, Remington Steele makes his way to Jim’s room. He finds that the door is secured with a safe lock that requires a combination to open. As he is trying to unlock the door, a man with his wife sees him. To avoid trouble, Remington Steele pretends to have been locked out by his wife.
Mr. Steele: What was that, dear? No. No, no, no. It’s uh—it’s all right. I’ll, uh, wait for you out here.
Remington Steele lets the man and his wife pass.
Mr. Steele: Takes her forever to get dressed.
At the lobby, Jim Meecham and Laura Holt chat.
Jim: Without the research, all you got’s a dead thief.
Jim Meecham gets up his chair.
Laura: Or a murder victim. We’re waiting for the autopsy report.
Jim Meecham returns to his seat.
Remington Steele successfully unlocks the room.
Back at the lobby, Jim Meecham and Laura Holt continue their conversation.
Jim: Six, two and even—Dillon’s the one who’s stealing our research.
Laura: Why do you say that?
Jim: Only reason I got my cleats into that company is ‘cause he ran it into the ground.
A waitress brings Jim Meecham his drink.
Jim: Thank you, honey.
Jim Meecham resumes his conversation with Laura Holt.
Jim: He’s a rookie with a penchant for polo ponies, blackjack tables, and little pieces of fluff who collect expensive jewelry.
Remington Steele searches under the beds in Jim Meecham’s hotel room. He finds a briefcase, and unlocks it with a letter opener.
Jim: Been nice talkin’ to you, Laura.
Jim gets up his chair.
Laura: Uh, wait.
Laura stands up too.
Laura: Um, we’re not finished yet.
Jim: I got my lawyer comin’ by with the papers in my suit against your agency.
Jim Meecham walks away. Remington Steele is still in Jim’s motel room looking through blueprints he found in the briefcase when the phone starts ringing. Mr. Steele almost answers the phone by instinct, but he catches himself. Laura Holt is at a public phone at the hotel. She whispers.
Laura: Answer the phone.
The phone continues to ring. Remington Steele hears the door being unlocked. He runs to the door, and hides behind it as Jim Meecham enters the room. Mr. Steele slips outside unnoticed as Jim answers the phone.
Laura Holt caught by surprise lowers her voice.
Laura: Who’s this?
Jim: Who’s this?
Remington Steele and Laura Holt arrive at the detective agency.
Mr. Steele: Good afternoon, Ms. Wolfe.
Bernice: You’re getting to be a regular fixture around here.
Laura: Any word on that license plate?
Ms. Wolfe: They’re still running it through the D.M.V. computer, but Murphy’s on the phone with the pathologist.
Murphy Michaels is at his desk on the phone.
Murphy: Yeah. Spell that for me. Right. Thanks, Doc.
Laura Holt and Remington Steele stand in front of his desk.
Murphy: Spell that for me. Right. Thanks, Doc. Call me when you’re finished, okay?
Murphy Michaels hangs up the phone.
Murphy: Well, what do you know? He was right.
Remington Steele smiles and turns to Laura Holt. Laura looks up to him. Murphy writes on his notepad.
Murphy: Wallace didn’t O.D. on junk. He was literally relaxed to death.
Murphy reads what he has written.
Murphy: Injected with a form of orphenadrine citrate, a muscle relaxant, the kind used on horses.
Laura: Dillon’s into polo.
Murphy: There are stables at the back of the house.
Laura: Anything else?
Murphy: They’re going over the contents of Wallace’s stomach now. That should be done by the end of the day.
Mr. Steele: Aha! Not only do we know how and where the murder took place, but who committed it.
Murphy: Oh yeah?
Laura: We do?
Mr. Steele: Absolutely. Meecham. His briefcase is bulding with plans to tear down Dillon Electronics, and build an industrial park, not a bad incentive to bankrupt a company by stealing its own research.
Laura: Don’t forget Rodger Dillon.
Mr. Steele: I think I’m getting the hang of this.
Laura: According to Meecham, he needed a lot of cash to float his lifestyle.
Murphy: Remember Mrs. Dillon, insisting everything be moved to the house that made it a helluva lot easier to steal.
Mr. Steele: My money’s on Meecham. Let’s nab him.
Remington Steele goes to his office.
Laura Holt looks at Murphy Michaels and mouths what Remington Steele just said.
Murphy: I told you this was a mistake.
Laura: We need a little thing called evidence.
Laura Holt walks over to Remington Steele’s office, and stands by the door.
Laura: Which means that somebody is going to have to get back into that house.
Mr. Steele: Leave everything to me.
Remington Steele leaves. Murphy Michaels stands up.
Murphy: That is a lot more frightening than “Let’s nab him”.
The following day, Remington Steele plays polo against Jim Meecham, and Rodger Dillon.
Jim: Hope you got major medical.
Mr. Steele: Now, Meech, polo is a contest where gentlemen exhibit the finest qualities of horsemanship and fair play.
Jim: Blow it out your ear.
Mr. Dillon: Meecham.
Remington Steele puts on his helmet. Laura Holt arrives with the horse in tow. Laura sighs.
Laura: I didn’t know you played polo.
Mr. Steele: Charles and I used to have a go at it whenever I was in London.
Mr. Steele: Now that he’s married, we don’t play as often as we’d like to.
Laura Holt hands Remington Steele his club.
Mr. Steele: Thank you. Happy snooping.
Remington Steele rides away. Hannah Dillon walks over to Laura Holt.
Hannah: I like your boss. He has the same kind of flair Packy had. A little reckless maybe, but lots of sauce.
Laura: Why do you say that?
Hannah: Rodger’s a world-class player.
Laura: Well, it’s only a game.
Hannah: Not for twenty-five thousand bucks it ain’t.
Laura: Twenty-five thousand bucks?
Hannah: That’s what he bet Rodger and Meecham.
Laura: Twenty-five thousand?
Laura Holt whimpers.
The game has started. Jim Meecham strikes the ball.
Jim: Come on, Dillon! Get after it! Dillon, move it!
Laura Holt sneaks inside the stables while everybody is busy watching the polo game.
Meanwhile, Remington Steele is still at the game.
Mr. Steele: Come on.
Jim Meecham comes riding fast towards the ball.
Mr. Steele: Stay with him. Stay with him!
Jim Meecham strikes the ball in the direction of Remington Steele.
Jim: Yahoo! Yeah!
Remington Steele dodges the ball.
Jim: Sorry, Steele. Didn’t mean to miss ya.
Meanwhile, Laura Holt enters the storage room in the stables, and finds a bottle of Orphenadrine with Rodger Dillon’s name on it. She puts the bottle in her bag. She notices a tin can, and finds residue, and a syringe inside it. She puts the syringe in her bag, and takes a handful of the residue, smells it and bags it. Laura runs outside the stable, and sees a Porsche parked outside.
The polo game continues.
Meecham: Come on, Dillon! Get in there!
Laura Holt walks over to Hannah Dillon who is intently watching the game. A Japanese man walks to the far side of the fence turns to Hannah Dillon, and bows to her. The man who attacked Laura stands beside him.
Laura: Friends of yours?
Hannah: Rodger’s new partners.
Laura: In the electronics company?
Hannah: No, some joint venture.
Laura: You don’t sound too pleased bout it, Mrs. Dillon.
Hannah: Rodger calls the shots now.
Remington Steele and Jim Meecham fight for the ball. Rodger Dillon sees Remington Steele and rides his horse directly at him. Mr. Steele sees Rodger and moves away from his path in the nick of time. Rodger hits Jim’s horse and Jim is thrown on the ground. Rodger runs over to Jim who groans and struggles to get up.
Mr. Steele: Shall we count this as a time-out, gentlemen?
Later that night, Laura Holt dressed in a gown is at Remington Steele’s apartment.
Laura: I’m not even going to ask if you know what you’re doing.
Remington Steele in his tux puts place cards on the table.
Mr. Steele: I know precisely what I’m doing. William Powell did exactly the same thing in The Thin Man, invited all the suspects to a dinner party, reconstructed the crime and exposed the murderer.
Laura Holt helps Remington Steele put on his jacket.
Mr. Steele: And may I say, you make a splendid Myrna Loy.
Laura: Don’t be so cocky. You’re just lucky Dillon and Meecham had to forfeit the match. Where did you think you’d get fifty-thousand dollars if you’d lost?
The doorbell rings.
Mr. Steele: I had no intention of losing.
Remington Steele opens the door. Ruggedly dressed Murphy Michaels enters reading a file. He rudely hands his jacket to Mr. Steele, and walks straight at Laura Holt.
Murphy: The completed autopsy report.
Murphy Michaels shows Laura Holt the file.
Murphy: Take a peek at page five.
Remington Steele closes the door, and walks towards Murphy Michaels.
Mr. Steele: Couldn’t you have worn something slightly more appropriate?
Murphy: No, I didn’t have time to change.
Laura Holt finishes reading the file.
Laura: Okay, let’s get the show on the road.
Mr. Steele: Well, I’m glad to see that you’re finally into the spirit of the evening.
Later, everybody is at the dinner table happily conversing when Remington Steele gets up his chair. He clears his throat.
Mr. Steele: To our guests.
Remington Steele raises his glass.
Mr. Steele: May the conversation be as interesting as the company.
While they are eating, Remington Steele talks about the murder of his friend Wallace Immel.
Mr. Steele: Wallace obviously discovered the killer removing the research from the library. There was a fierce struggle. The killer hit Wallace repeatedly.
Laura: What Mr. Steele means is that it could have happened that way, but didn’t since the autopsy found no bruises or abrasions on Wallace’s body.
Mr. Steele: Well, whatever. The point is the killer dragged…
Mr. Steele: Wallace to the stable where he was injected with a massive overdose of muscle relaxant.
Laura: Same type found in this vial.
Laura Holt pulls out the bottle of Orphenadrine.
Laura: Using a needle exactly like this one.
Laura Holt shows them the syringe.
Laura: Both of which were found in our stable, Mr. Dillon.
Jim Meecham smiles silently laughing and looks at the stunned Rodger Dillon.
Mr. Steele: Then the killer transported Wallace’s unconscious body to Main Street hoping it would appear that he died of a drug overdose.
Mr. Dillon: Your food is wonderful, but…
Rodger Dillon laughs.
Mr. Dillon: Your theory’s absurd. None of us has a reason to steal from ourselves.
Mr. Steele: Wrong. One of you had the strongest possible reason. Money. Enormous amounts of the stuff, isn’t that right Meecham?
Remington Steele looks at Jim Meecham who has a big grin on his face that immediately turns sour.
Laura: And of course, as you pointed out, Mr. Steele, Rodger Dillon had an equally strong motive.
Mr. Steele: I don’t remember pointing that out.
Laura: Of course you do, when you learned of his association with those gentlemen at the polo match.
Mr. Dillon: Those gentlemen have nothing to do with Dillon Electronics.
Laura: Why was one of them searching Wallace’s room?
Murphy: Excuse me.
Murphy Michaels gets up his chair, and goes to the kitchen.
Mr. Steele: Tell me, Meecham, when Dillon Electronics went under did you plant to buy up the rest of the company?
Jim: Damn right.
Mr. Dillon: You’ll never get your hands on my company, Meecham.
Murphy Michaels returns bringing with him a cup of tea.
Murphy: Try this, Mrs. Dillon.
Jim: It’s only a matter of time till you’ll have to punt, Dillon. Then I’m gonna run with the ball.
Laura: How’s the tea, Mrs. Dillon?
Hannah: Tastes like the kind I drink.
Laura: It is the kind you drink.
Hannah: I didn’t know anyone else had that recipe.
Mr. Steele: Ladies, could we shelve the tea talk and get back to business?
Remington Steele turns to Jim Meecham.
Mr. Steele: You wanted that land for an industrial park, didn’t you?
Jim: You got it.
Mr. Steele: Then you admit it.
Jim: I admit I was gonna build an industrial park.
Hannah Dillon turns to Laura Holt.
Hannah: Where did you get the recipe?
Jim Meecham continues to argue with Remington Steele.
Jim: But then you already knew that, didn’t you, Steele?
Laura Holt answers Hannah Dillon.
Laura: You brewed Wallace a cup.
Jim continues arguing with Remington Steele.
Jim: ‘cause you went through my hotel room.
Laura Holt turns to Hannah Dillon.
Laura: Right before you killed him!
Jim Meecham continues with his ranting.
Jim: And that’s called breaking and entering.
Hannah Dillon stands up, pulls out a gun from her purse. Murphy Michaels immediately sees what she is about to do. Meanwhile, Jim Meecham who is furious at Remington Steele gets up his chair.
Mr. Steele: Sit down.
Murphy Michaels tries to take the gun from Hannah Dillon. As Remington Steele strikes a punch at Jim Meecham, the gun goes off missing Jim Meecham by an inch. Laura Holt shrieks.
Murphy: Easy, Mrs. Dillon.
Murphy Michaels puts Hannah Dillon’s hand behind her back.
Jim: What the hell’s goin’ on here?
Hannah Dillon turns to her son.
Hannah: You little wimp! Tell them what business your new partners are in.
Mr. Dillon: For God sakes mother, shut up!
Hannah: They peddle classified American technology to the highest bidder. Do you think I was gonna let you sell them our discoveries just to keep you in more toys? I’d rather see the company go under than have it run by a traitor.
Mr. Dillon: Mother, you’re gonna get us both hung.
Remington Steele is in shock. Hannah Dillon turns to him.
Hannah: I didn’t want to hurt that poor man, but he just couldn’t understand what I was trying to do.
Jim Meecham who is hunched under the table stands up, and turns to Remington Steele.
Jim: You saved my life, Steele. And I thought you were gonna accuse me of the murder.
Mr. Steele: You? Don’t be absurd.
Jim Meecham puts his right arm around Remington Steele.
Jim: Awful quick thinkin’, buddy.
Mr. Steele: Well, what else do you expect from Remington Steele?
The next day, Remington Steele and Laura Holt are in the chauffeured car. Remington Steele’s picture shaking the hand of Jim Meecham is plastered on the newspaper. The headline reads “Steele Saves Oilman’s Life”.
Mr. Steele: Really, Laura, this is shocking. If I were you, I’d have a word with the press. Do you realize not one of these stories mentions your name?
Laura: One learns to live with it. That was nice, donating the money you won in that polo match to Wallace’s mission.
Mr. Steele: He was a nice man, and a hell of a burglar. I think the entire staff can be rather proud of this one.
Laura: The entire staff thanks you.
Mr. Steele: However, there is one small thing that puzzles me. How did I know it was Mrs. Dillon and not her son?
Laura: Or Meecham.
Mr. Steele: Or Meecham.
Laura: Remember? She was the only one who drank that tea, and when it turned up in the stable and on Wallace’s stomach.
Laura snaps her fingers.
Mr. Steele: God, I’m good.
This is not the actual script. This is my own transcription of the episode. The “Tempered Steele” episode was written by Michael Gleason. Remington Steele is owned by MTM Productions and Twentieth Century Fox.
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